“Take a deep breath... Enjoy it. You have so very few left”, she said while remembering deep inside, what her Master had once told her: “science has killed fiction and made skeptic of all...” It seemed as though, now as she looked down on this worthless man, fiction had come back with its claws extended; foaming at the mouth for some much needed payback.
The man, Frank Updike, stared up at her, his eyes begging for mercy.
For days now she had waited to whittle and die; to shrivel up and turn to sand, leaving a husk of her beauty behind. As she stepped out of her degrading fishbowl exhibit, her naked toes sliding over cool virgin ground, and saw one of her captives cave into himself before her, she ultimately acknowledge something she had deduced days ago.
Man Jaku, for she had no other name in this graven form, had perceived her lover's aura, his almost encircling presence, burn out from this reality in flash. His vitality, that conduit that had joined them as kindred spirits, had violently snapped; a connection of hundreds of years, broken in less than a second. She had cried. Tears of blood flowing freely, for the first time in her second life, and bathing her whole body.
The sentries, that had looked and spied at her, fearfully fretted that something was amiss. They shuttered in terror that their new asset was dying. That night she slaughter all 4 of them. They had mistaken sorrow for pain; grief for weakness, and when they had come in to her forced domicile, she broke every bone in their bodies as an exercising healing mental therapy.
Her lover had died and, since that day, she had silently waited for the magic he had bestowed upon her, to bungee back and rip immortality away from her. After a week of meditation and acceptance of her incomming death, her dark heart began to shine with a terrible new idea. Hope for her continued permanence in this reality and, over all, the fortuity to shruck away from, what she knew would be her designated place, next to Devil, in her afterlife, had wormed its way into her mind.
She would not die yet. She would continue to buy her time in this hamster cage until, either she escaped or the world around her would root. She would be patience and, at any rate, she would play with her food whenever they dropped their guard around her.
Life, for the past few months, had become like corked wine to her; it smelled of wet dog and tasted of vermin, but she was certain that she could stomach such disease based cuisine, after-all, she was still alive. Sooner, or later, she would once again dine off fine rack of lamb; time was always on her side.
Then, only a few minutes ago, this man had come to her. This male mammal, that comported himself with such dignity and posture, but hid such bawdy and coarse nature, had sundered himself into her shadow. She had been prepared to toy with him. To watch how he pretended that her form did not inflame his hormones. How he hid flushed cheecks from her gaze, and his collar...